


If Only For One Night

by OhCaptainMyCaptain



Series: Stucky Porn Prompt Challenge [9]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anal, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Bottom Steve, Bottom Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Feels, Crossdressing, Crossdressing Kink, Hickies, Hurt Steve, M/M, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Period-typical lingerie, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Protective Bucky Barnes, Rimming, Steve Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers Feels, Top Bucky Barnes, Warning: NSFW GIFS/images at the end of the story, so many feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2014-08-16
Packaged: 2018-02-13 11:26:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2149008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhCaptainMyCaptain/pseuds/OhCaptainMyCaptain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b>DAY NINE: CROSSDRESSING STEVE + PORN WITH PLOT + ANGST AND FEELS + HAPPY ENDING</b>
</p><p>“Well… Didn’t know if I’d ever get to see my girl again,” he suddenly hears Bucky murmur softly from behind him. </p><p>Startled, Steve spins around, feeling mortified. His cheeks blush, making the makeup on his cheeks stand out all the more prominently – and he suddenly wants to cry, because there’s Bucky, leaning against the door frame and looking Steve from head to toe with those warm grey eyes and… and all Steve wants to do is hide. Had he heard the front door open and was given a head’s up about his best friend being back home, he would’ve locked himself in the bathroom and wouldn’t have come out until everything had been scrubbed clean from his face and – <em>maybe, hopefully</em> – he could’ve put all the clothing away before Bucky had noticed. It’d seemed like a good idea at the time; now, Steve couldn’t regret it more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Only For One Night

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who's been sending me prompts, kinks, etc. for this 30 Day Stucky Challenge. I've gotten some really damn good ones, so feel free to continue to send me your requests either here, or on my [Tumblr](http://ohcaptainmycaptain1918.tumblr.com/) :)
> 
> **I do not own any characters, settings, plot lines, concepts, or terminology as created, used, and owned by Marvel Entertainment, LLC ®. This is a work of fanfiction. Furthermore, I do not authorize the re-distribution of this story for the purposes of downloading, printing, or posting the story in its entirety on any other websites without first attaining my consent. Thank you.**

It’s not that Steve’s ever _wanted_ to be “pretty”. In fact, he can’t stand the idea that people might have ever thought of him that way – sure, he’s slight and small, with big round baby blues that are too mesmerizing and soft to ever really be seen on a _man’s man_. Sure, he has skin as smooth and porcelain as the dames in the pictures, and _maybe_ he could be described as “delicate” and “fragile”. And those terms, he knows, are _not_ ones that any respectable man would feel endeared being called.

But the thing is, he’s _not_ a dame; he never has been and he never will be. Because if one actually took the careful time to examine his body more closely, they’d see all the parts of it that could _never_  be “delicate”, “fragile”, or “pretty”… Aside from the obvious difference in anatomy and reproductive organs, Steve’s face isn’t as feminine as it may appear by first glance; his nose, with its hump and sturdiness, is about the manliest feature he has going for him. His lips, though full, are often chapped. His eyes may be wide and round and framed with long lashes, but there’s a hardness to them that’s come from years of getting kicked to the ground by bullies, and circumstance, and poverty, and sickness. Pretty dames don’t have that edge to their eyes.

He’s thin and tiny, but he isn’t beautiful. He’s bony. He’s knobby. He’s got big hands and bruised knees and gangly limbs. His cheeks are gaunt and his neck is too long. His spine is twisted and misshaped and – like the rest of him – doesn’t sit quite right. He’s always had slightly big feet compared to the rest of him, and his toes are _definitely_ not womanly or “feminine”. And though, from a distance, he may look soft to the touch and welcoming, he definitely doesn’t smell as nice as ladies do.

Blame it on the lack of soap, or the inability to shower all the time, or the heat of Brooklyn’s hot summer days, but Steve always smells like sweat and what can only be described as a boyish musk. He’s very specific in his own mind about using that particular word – _boyish_. Boyish, unlike Bucky, whose smell is that of a _man_ – hard labour and cigarettes and testosterone. Bucky’s always smelled like that, while Steve’s always carried a scent more similar to a roughhousing _boy_.

Steve isn’t “pretty” and it’s not like he’s ever really _wanted_ to be. It’s just that sometimes…

Bucky’s going to be home from work within the hour, and Steve doesn’t want to admit to his best friend – let alone himself – the reason why he’s suddenly so compelled to do _this_ today. They haven’t done it for months; Steve can’t even remember the last time all that well. And it’s not like they’ve engaged in it very often, either. But he’d gone for a walk that day, down to the park to sit and sketch, and he enjoys people-watching, he really does, but… Then he’d seen _it_ and his heart had sunk and before he knew it, he’d been back at the apartment and curled up on their beat up old couch.

Most of the time, it doesn’t bother him. Nine times out of ten, he can look past it; distract his mind until the feeling passes and he reminds himself what he has going for him – what _he and Bucky_ have going for them. Steve’s had a lot of things go wrong in his life and not a lot of reasons to remain optimistic, but despite all of that, he’s never been one to let himself stew in it. You don’t get through life letting negativity make you stagnant in one place; you gotta play an active role in your happiness, you can’t just expect it to come to you willy-nilly.

Which is why when it _does_ finally get to him from time to time, he does this… because for just a few hours, he can pretend. They both can.

His things are packed away in a single box, big enough to hold it all. It’s pushed all the way into the deepest corner of their closet; covered and _hidden_ beneath articles of clothing and their extra blanket and, though they’ll never admit it out loud, _basically anything that can keep it from plain sight_. It’s not that they’re ashamed of it, really. Bucky’s actually more embracing of it than Steve is, though Steve’s hesitancy stems from something _sadder_ rooted into his system than from embarrassment. It’s just that they spend so much of their time trying to keep the world convinced that they’re good, moral, _righteous_ men – and those kinds of men don’t do things like this.

If their home was ever raided and they were mugged of everything they had, the thieves could take it all as far as Steve and Bucky are concerned – just so long as they don’t come across that box hidden in the corner of their closet. They’re both realistic enough to know that the consequences of that would prove far deadlier than any amount of poverty ever could.

Steve unburies it and then takes a seat right there on the floor. He opens up the box and pulls out the items one by one; takes his time holding everything and mapping it out with careful fingers. He handles each individual thing with the same tenderness and delicacy with which Bucky treats him whenever they do _this_. It’s probably one of the most important parts of the process for him and he isn’t really sure why.

He starts by undressing. He sheds out of his identity, letting each article of clothing drop to the floor in an untidy pile. He may not do this often but when he _does_ , it always goes the exact same way. He’ll go to their only mirror and just stand in front of it for a few minutes. His eyes rake over his naked frame, and there may be _sadness_ in the melting pot of features flickering across his face, but he’d never admit to it.

When he’s finished, he always goes back into his room and takes the proper care to fold each and every piece of _Steve’s_ clothing as neatly as he can. He stacks them on his ma’s old dresser – one of the items he’d kept for himself after her passing because the inside of the drawers still smelled like her sometimes – and they wait for him, for when it’ll be over and he’ll put them back on again. To Steve, it’s like a reminder; one that’s both good and back but something he needs in the back of his mind all the same.

The next thing he does in his tiny list is probably both his _favourite_ and his most dreaded.

There’s always a solemn frown on his face when he pulls the nylons up his legs – has to constantly pluck at them and shift them around as they slide up past the knee when the fabric gets caught on or tugs at the fine hairs on his skin uncomfortably. But once they’re on, he can’t help but run his palms to his ankles and back up again. He likes the smoothness; his legs look thinner and, yes, his ankles are definitely more delicate when masked by the material, and it’s about the _only_ time when Steve not only accepts it but _desires_ it.

Next is the pair of bloomers and the brassiere. He _likes_ the panties because they ride high enough to cover his belly button (the less of his stomach he needs to show off, the better). And though they aren’t silk – _they could never afford something like that_ – the feel of the fabric can trick the mind into replicating that same sensation when Steve slides his hands along it. On the other hand, the brassiere Steve could do without. He feels ridiculous in it whenever he first puts it on, because his board-flat chest does _little_ to flatter the cups pressing against his skin when there’s absolutely nothing to fill them with. It’s just been adjusted well enough by this point that it can press tight enough to his chest so you can’t really see all that negative space unless Steve moves a certain way. If it were up to him, he wouldn’t wear it at all. But _Bucky_ likes it – _says it makes him look gorgeous_ – and Steve understands how the overall image would be lacking without it.

He can’t deny that when he pulls the chemise over his head and feels it sliding down his body until it’s sitting just above his knees, that the brassiere is the make-it-or-break-it component of the look. It gives him the appearance of being shapely in all the places that he just _isn’t_. He can never bring himself to _look_ at himself yet when he’s at this stage, but he’s seen what he looks like through _Bucky’s_ eyes, and that’s always enough to make a believer out of him.

If they had more money, they’d be able to afford finer materials and _more of them._ As it stands, these clothes are years old but they still fit and they’re all the two men really need. It’s the final touches that help bring them all together… Like the little black pumps that Bucky had saved his earnings for _three months_ to buy Steve for his 21 st birthday. The heel isn’t extravagant – Steve wouldn’t be able to walk in them if they were – but they do the trick; make his legs look even slimmer and give his step a little _oomph_ that his otherwise awkward body posture could never create on its own.

Sometimes, he still feels guilty about defacing his mother’s old faux-pearls when he wraps the line of them around his neck and does up the clasp. They sit on him just as nicely as they had on her – though Steve knows he could never be as beautiful as Sarah. He knows he’d been selfish in his choice to keep them, though he constantly justifies it to himself by reminding himself that it hadn’t _started out_ that way. It’d been purely sentiment that had made him hold onto them. And it’s not like he could’ve turned much of a profit by giving them away – and he _certainly_ wouldn’t have thrown them out. Every time he puts them on, a pained expression crosses Steve’s face as he whispers a quick prayer under his breath and begs God and his mother for forgiveness; that if she’s watching him from her perch in Heaven, that maybe one day she might understand why he does this.

Over the years, they’ve gathered the collection of makeup from a number of sources: dames who had come in and out of Bucky’s life and had forgotten an item or two in the morning when they’d left; the older boy lifting things here and there from shops and beauty stores without Steve’s knowledge (and even one time when _Steve_ had been desperate enough to steal the little tube of red lipstick, for which he’d repented with ten Hail Mary’s and nearly an _hour_ on his knees with his head bowed next to his cot)… Sometimes, Bucky would do things the old-fashioned, _moral_ way and just purchase them when he had the extra cash or saved up for it on a special occasion. He’d always make up some story to the clerks about how he was surprising his ‘best gal’ for her birthday, and then leave them lying around the apartment for Steve to find in his own time.

They never made a big deal or a spectacle out of it; Bucky always knew that Steve stomached the whole thing _much_ easier when Bucky played it off nonchalant – like what they did in the privacy of their own home from time to time was the most _normal_ thing in the world.

This is the part where Steve will let himself look into the mirror; he doesn’t really have a choice. At first, he always feels sickened by what he sees – _a boy doing unnatural things, making perverted choices._ But as his steady hand applies the powder to his face… the blue shadow on his lids… the pink rose to apple the tops of his cheekbones… traces the perimeter of his eyes with the ashy liner… curls those long lashes… and finally (his favourite part), coating his lips with the crimson red and giving his mouth that “Crawford Smear” that Bucky’s always liked so much…

Well, as he does that, he slowly begins to transform. And his features, which on their own are _not_ “delicate” and “fragile” and “pretty”, gradually _become_ all of those things. _Steve’s_ features, when naked, give off the misleading _illusion_ that he’s feminine; but they really are a good canvas for dolling up. His gaunt cheekbones go from _sickly_ to _exquisite_ when blushed; his lashes fulfill the purpose they otherwise never can when properly curled… and his lips, well… you can’t even _see_ the chapped thin skin from underneath the rouge.

He turns his face from side to side and takes in the person looking back at him. Steve Rogers never wants to be “pretty” unless it’s in this moment. Then that’s all he hopes for. The blonde, curly wig is usually left for last – the final touch – but it’d been they’d noticed it was too worn out and old the last time he’d put it on all those months ago, and reluctantly, they’d had to throw it out.

They’d only been able to get _that_ one because one of Bucky’s friends as a teenager had a sister who’d been a dancer. She’d had a bevy of wigs to choose from, and when he’d been sure that the short, curly blonde one would no longer be of use to her, Bucky had snuck it under his coat and had “permanently borrowed” it without ever letting either his friend of his sister know. They’d never asked about it, and he’d told Steve that he’d gotten permission first, along with a bullshit reason for taking it in the first place that he made up on the spot for his best friend’s sake. 

Without the wig, Steve feels like the look is unfinished. The frown returns to his face when he takes in the sight as a whole. He’d always been able to hide beneath the façade and let himself get lost in it because the wig gave that extra needed touch. His natural hair is too short and too masculine for the makeup covering his face and the clothes hugging his body. Now, he feels more like an _imposter_ than the beautiful woman he’d been able to convince himself he looked like in the past.

“Well… Didn’t know if I’d ever get to see my girl again,” he suddenly hears Bucky murmur softly from behind him.

Startled, Steve spins around, feeling mortified. His cheeks blush, making the makeup on his cheeks stand out all the more prominently – and he suddenly wants to cry, because there’s Bucky, leaning against the door frame and looking Steve from head to toe with those warm grey eyes and… and all Steve wants to do is hide. Had he heard the front door open and was given a head’s up about his best friend being back home, he would’ve locked himself in the bathroom and wouldn’t have come out until everything had been scrubbed clean from his face and – _maybe, hopefully_ – he could’ve put all the clothing away before Bucky had noticed. It’d seemed like a good idea at the time; now, Steve couldn’t regret it more.

“You look beautiful,” Bucky says, a small smile tugging up one corner of his mouth.

Steve’s mouth quivers but he does his best to swallow down the lump in his throat. Dejectedly, he glances down at his body and wraps his arms around his midriff, as if it would help. “It’s not the same without the wig,” he replies quietly. His voice doesn’t sound nearly as stable as he wants it to be.

Bucky just straightens from the doorway and approaches him, slipping a finger under his chin and tilting Steve’s face up to look him in the eyes. Steve can feel his own shining with unshed tears - the sight of which makes Bucky’s face fall.

“Oh, baby,” Bucky sighs sadly. Shaking his head, he whispers, “No, you look so beautiful.”

“I should go change,” Steve mutters, trying to walk around the older man so he can barricade himself in their bedroom.

“Stevie, wait,” Bucky says quickly, palming his shoulders. Steve sighs, but he also stops. Bucky’s eyes slowly drop down the blond’s body while he absentmindedly rubs the skin of Steve’s shoulders with his thumbs. When his orbs travel back up to his best friend’s face, he lifts a hand and cups it. The sincerity with which he stares at Steve makes the latter feel incredibly exposed. “You know what I see?” Bucky asks.

Steve shakes his head in protest and grimaces as he averts his gaze. “An idiot?” he asks bitterly. “A _freak_ in women’s clothing?”

“Hey, now you stop that shit right now, you hear me?” Bucky cuts in sternly. His other hand finds its home on Steve’s vacant cheek and Bucky hunches forward, bringing his face closer. “I will _not_ let my girl talk about herself like that.”

“I’m not your ‘girl’, Buck,” Steve mutters angrily, vision now becoming blurry with tears. And it’s all sorts of fucked up, isn’t it, that the thought of that hurts so much _not_ because he doesn’t want it to be the case, but because of how badly he _does_ right now.

“Yes you are. And you know what _I_ see? I see the prettiest thing in all of Brooklyn – _no_ , the world, Steve. I see someone with a heart of fucking _gold_ and sometimes, sometimes I think that you’re not even really human; you’re an angel that for some reason, God thought I was good enough to deserve.” Bucky’s fingers trail up and brush some hair from Steve’s forehead. “I’m not, you know,” he continues, and Steve will never understand how his eyes can be filled with so much goddamn _love_ for him; more adoration and worship that Steve would ever be worthy of – because people aren’t supposed to look at him this way. They never have before, and that must say something.

“I’m _not_ deserving of you,” Bucky continues. “Never have been and never will be, but… for some reason, you stick around and keep me in your hair. You’re _mine_ , you know… And I don’t let someone I love so damn much think so low of themselves. Stevie, look at me. You’re _perfect_ , and I think you look great.”

A tear slips from the corner of Steve’s eye and rolls down his cheek. He feels like a jackass for wanting to wipe it away so it doesn’t smudge his makeup. As if reading his mind, Bucky clucks softly – _sadly_ – and swipes his thumb over the tiny droplet. He then brings his thumbs up under Steve’s eyes and wipes gently, carefully making sure Steve’s tears don’t do just that.

“Do you know how pretty your eyes look when you do yourself up like this, doll?” he asks gently. “Lashes for _days_ … _No_ fella is safe when you look at them with eyes like that. _Christ_ , I’m a lucky bastard. You got all dressed up for me?”

Steve could keep arguing; he could fight it and push out of Bucky’s grip and make good on his word to get changed and forget about the whole thing. Bucky wouldn’t fight it – sure, he’d try and talk Steve out of it but if it’s really what he wanted, Steve knows Bucky wouldn’t interfere. The truth is, he’s just so _tired_. He’d wanted to feel pretty and he’d wanted to be able to be Bucky’s girl when his best guy got home, and all he feels is as ugly a duckling as the world had always made him out to be his entire life.

But even without the wig, Bucky’s _still_ seeing him for exactly that. He’s _still_ standing there, treating Steve exactly the way he wants to be treated, and he realizes that it makes him feel not just tired, but _exhausted_. He just wants to feel loved right now; wants to feel like he’s good enough… wants to pretend that their relationship could be an everlasting thing – _real_ – and not something that must inevitably come to an end one day.

So he sniffles and deflates, choosing instead to reply, “Yeah… I was hoping to surprise you by the time you got home.” His voice wavers as the sentence dies out, and suddenly he’s fighting once more to choke the tears down.

Bucky gives him a small, reassuring smile. “You _did_ , baby; best surprise I could’ve come home to. I’ve missed my beautiful girl so much. You know how pretty you look in this lingerie? Did you go out today and buy ‘em just to surprise me, too?”

It’s always part of what they do: act like everything’s for the first time; that these articles are clothing aren’t the only ones Steve’s ever been able to wear time and time again. Steve can see how hard Bucky’s trying. It both makes his heart ache and flutter at the same time. Forcing his eyes up, shining and all, he replies, “I wanted to look nice for you.”

“You _do_ , doll. You look like a model; if I were halfway good with a camera, I’d be laying you out and doin’ nothing but photographing you until the cows came home. Everyone down at work would be so damn jealous when they saw the prize I’d scored.”

“I’m no prize,” Steve mutters under his breath, rolling his eyes.

Bucky just grabs his chin and forces him to look back at him. “You are to me,” he says. “In fact, we’re gonna get you a nice dress and I’m gonna take you out dancin’ sometime soon. Then _everyone_ will know just how special my girl is.”

It’s the emptiness of the promise that makes Steve start crying, because that’s all he _wants_ and yet for all of Bucky’s talk, they know that it’s not a possibility. Steve may be able to pass as a dame in the privacy of their own home when there’s no one to convince, but it’s just not doable in the real world. Bucky never _can_ take him dancing like that, or to dinner, or _anywhere_ and show him off. They can never have a real relationship – one that would last for the ages and give them a family or a life together – and that absolutely kills him inside.

“Baby, baby, shit, I’m sorry,” Bucky whispers quickly, trying to wipe the new tears away as quickly as they’re falling. For a second, he looks desperate, like he doesn’t know the right thing to do. He just regards Steve with a pained expression as he withdraws one hand to run through his hair, and then he pulls the smaller body to his and hugs the blond tightly. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, kissing the top of Steve’s head as he cries into Bucky’s chest.

When he’s finally able to calm down and he pulls back, Steve glances in the mirror and then makes a distressed sound. His makeup is running below his eyes and he looks _hideous_. “No, _no_ , fuck!” he agonizes through clenched teeth, as he grabs some toilet paper and starts hectically trying to clean it up. All it does is make a bigger mess of things.

“Baby, _Steve_ ,” Bucky says worriedly, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Steve throws his arm up, yanking out of Bucky’s touch as he snaps, “Don’t touch me! _Look_ at me, Buck – I look _stupid!_ This isn’t how I wanted this to go at all!” His breathing is becoming erratic, and he has to lean over the counter top and white-knuckle the ledge as he closes his eyes and tries to steady himself.

Bucky just watches him, grief written all over his face. After a few seconds of silence, he gathers more toilet paper and comes back over to Steve. “Here, let me,” he says quietly. This time, when he tentatively touches Steve’s arm, the younger man just sighs and turns around compliantly. He leans against the counter and chews the inside of his cheek as Bucky dampens the toilet paper from the tap and then gingerly holds Steve’s face still while he gets rid of the streaked makeup on his cheeks. It winds up wiping away a fair portion of his blush and power, but he’s able to salvage most of his overall eye makeup, and his lips are still untouched.

Instead of dwelling on it, when Bucky’s finished, he just leans in and presses their foreheads together. Closing his eyes, he says, “I know you don’t believe me, but you still look so fuckin’ pretty right now. I wanna kiss your lips real badly… Can I…? You can say no if you don’t want me to, but if you don’t stop me, then m’gonna.”

There’s the urge in Steve to not let him. If Bucky kisses him, he knows where this will head and the thing is, he doesn’t _deserve_ it. But for all of Steve’s apparent _goodness_ , he’s also a selfish man – because right now, that’s all he _wants_. He knows he could just tilt his chin up and claim Bucky’s lips himself, but that’s not what a respectable woman would do. So he chews the inside of his cheek and then responds with a small nod.

“Just one kiss,” Steve says.

Bucky nods quickly. “Okay, just one, I promise.”

He makes it good; takes his time to pull back and glance up as his fingers run through the hair right above Steve’s left ear before pressing his palm back to his cheek and stroking his cheek bone with his thumb. He takes a tiny step in and presses his front lightly to Steve’s and then ducks down, slowly closing the space between them until his lips are pressing against Steve’s painted ones.

At first, Steve fights it; he doesn’t _resist_ , he just doesn’t kiss back. But of course, that only lasts for a few seconds. He can never ignore how _right_ it feels when his best friend kisses him, so he eventually presses his lips back and takes equal blame in the kiss that – though chaste and innocent – still leaves him breathless once it’s over. Because Bucky makes good on his word; for all of the rumours that surround his reputation, Bucky has never been nothing if not a gentleman when it comes to the way he treats women.

Pulling back, Bucky smiles, eyes still closed. Steve brings his hands up and places them on the brunet’s waist. He can feel the hand on his cheek making _no_ efforts to leave. “Just one, like I said,” Bucky whispers.

Steve hesitates and then brings one hand to the back of Bucky’s neck. He’s hurting so badly and he _needs_ this; needs to pull Bucky back down and crush their lips back together in something that’s far more passionate and less virtuous than what they’d just shared. Though Bucky may be respectful, he also doesn’t hold back once Steve lets his walls down enough to let his true vulnerability seep through. The _moment_ his mouth is back on Steve’s and the blond is throwing his arms around his neck, Bucky inhales sharply through his nose and kisses him hard, brows furrowing.

Their hands fly around aimlessly for the first minute or so; clutching tightly and never planning to let go so long as they can help it. When Bucky pushes his tongue past the seam of Steve’s lips and gets that momentarily waxy taste of lipstick on his taste buds, he lifts Steve up and sits him on the edge of the counter. Steve releases a quiet, pained moan and can only kiss him harder. He’s hard beneath the bloomers and gasps when he feels Bucky wedge himself forwards, nudging Steve’s legs apart and forcing them to make room for his hips.

Bucky reaches one hand down and grabs the top of Steve’s ass through his clothes so he can pull him forward and grind up against him. They pant into each other’s mouths; start moving frantically as Steve tries to clumsily take Bucky’s clothes off. Bucky never breaks the kiss, even as his hands fly up to help Steve out; shrugging off his coat and then shimmying his arms out of his suspenders so they’re hanging loosely by his sides.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he breathes between kisses. “Is this too fast?”

He always asks that. He asks that because that’s what a respectable gentleman _should_ do with a lady. Steve knows why Bucky’s asking this. He can’t help it when he plays along and answers, “I won’t tell no one. I… I want you, Bucky.”

“Good girl like you, playin’ on the wrong side of the tracks with the likes of someone like me,” Bucky breathes, exhaling a chuckle – but he’s already working on undoing the buttons of his shirt.

“You’re a good man,” Steve replies, voice breaking because _it’s so true and he’ll never deserve him;_ never get to have him in the ways that he thinks matter more.

“I’ll never hurt you, baby,” Bucky vows, leaning away to shrug out of his shirt. His mouth is smeared with the rouge of Steve’s lipstick. The sight makes Steve groan softly, and his body’s heating up and he’s so full of _need_ and he hurts all over; he just wants everything he can’t have and it’s _torture_. The shirt falls to the floor and Steve’s hands immediately fly up and run along his chest as Bucky grabs the side of his neck and swoops back in to reclaim his lips again.

“M’gonna treat you right,” he continues. “Tell me you’re my girl, Stevie.”

“Buck…” Steve starts, face twisting up even as his lips meld against Bucky’s.

“Please,” Bucky pleads, “for me.”

“I’m your girl,” Steve confesses, conceding. The admission alone breaks down the dam of emotions that’d been piling sky-high inside of him; he becomes both instantly and unfathomably _aroused_ , but it also _kill him so fucking much inside_. He grabs onto the back of Bucky’s hair and kisses him so roughly that their teeth clack together. The intensity of it makes Bucky moan softly in his mouth. “I’m your girl,” Steve whimpers again breathlessly. “I’m… I’m your…” He starts to shake, feeling the tears coming back on. “Bucky, please…"

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” the older man promises, always knowing Steve inside and out. He runs his hand up the side of his chemise and then breathes, “I’m gonna make you feel so good. I wanna make love to you… Can I? _God_ , Stevie, please tell me I can.”

“Yes,” Steve nods, gasping and clinging onto Bucky helplessly when Bucky’s hips roll forward in that perfect way where he can feel their cocks rub against each other just right. In this moment, he doesn’t care _how_ he’s dressed or _what_ he looks like; he just wants Bucky to love him and take the pain away. For one more God-forsaken night, he just wants to convince himself that this is how it could always be.

He wraps his legs around Bucky’s waist as he’s lifted from the counter and carried into their bedroom. Bucky lowers him onto the cot and then goes and grabs the jar of slick so that he won’t have to do it later. He gets onto the cot and shuffles over so he’s on his knees between Steve’s opened legs. His brown hair is messy and his chest heaves with gentle breaths, and he’s honestly the most amazing thing Steve’s ever seen. He can’t help but reach a hand up and touch his stomach.

“Fuck, _look_ at you,” Bucky exhales, running his eyes back along Steve’s body. “How can you not think you’re beautiful? You’re goddamn _exquisite_. Stevie, I just…” His voice hitches and he forces himself to stop for a moment as he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. His left hand slides up and down along Steve’s shin. When he opens them again, he glances down at that leg and then gently takes it in both hands. He bends it at the knee and then lifts it just a little into the air. He massages the length of the leg in one hand and then touches the heel on Steve’s foot.

“You wanna put these back on after I take the stockings off?” he asks.

The image is arousing but Steve still shakes his head. “No,” he replies quietly. He takes a shaky breath and continues to try and fight past the pain in his chest. “No, I… I want everything off.” He just wants the feeling of Bucky’s skin on his with nothing separating them.

Bucky gives a single nod. “Okay, baby doll.” He lowers Steve’s leg and then looks up at Steve’s face as he starts to slide both hands up Steve’s thighs, towards his pelvis. They keep their gazed locked when the older man eventually touches between his legs, over the bulge in the front of Steve’s bloomers, making them tent up. He kneads it gently, making Steve whimper softly as head falls back, the blond licking his lips.

“That feel good?” Bucky asks.

“Yeah…”

“Tell me if you want me to slow down any.”

“I will.”

(He won’t. They both know it.)

“Shame I have to take these off,” Bucky murmurs, hooking his fingers into the elastic waistband and pulling back. “You look so nice in ‘em.” He lets them snap gently off of Steve’s belly, making the young man squirm. Bucky’s pupils begin to dilate as his tongue wets his lips and he takes a breath. Then Steve feels him start tugging and removing the underwear from his body. Once they’re off his legs, Bucky tosses them over his shoulder and then sets his sight on Steve’s feet.

Unlike with the bloomers, after Bucky carefully slips off Steve’s pumps, he bends over the cot and sets them neatly on the floor. He touches the blond’s legs again and then begins to peel the stocking off of him. Steve can’t help but think to himself that one day, he’d like to purchase a pair of those stockings that cut off at the thigh and hook onto panties with those little clips – because he’d love to be able to keep those on sometime while Bucky fucks him. Not _tonight_ , of course, but… one day.

When he’s only down to one leg left, Bucky bends down and kisses along Steve’s thigh, sucking lightly and tonguing at the skin that gets exposed as he continues to pull the stockings down. When it gets to the knee, he takes the material between his teeth and then holds Steve’s leg up by the back of the calf. He continues to pull back and remove the rest of the material from Steve’s leg with just his teeth, making Steve chuckle under his breath at the sight. Bucky smirks at the sound and waggles his eyebrows ridiculously, just to hear the musical sound of Steve’s laughter again.

The stocking join the growing pile on the floor. Steve’s chemise is hitched up around the waist, exposing a peek at his erection. Bucky’s gaze moves over it; up to Steve’s chest and then back down again while he continues to rub both hands along the blond’s now naked thighs. “I can’t stand it,” Bucky murmurs, shaking his head in amazement. “You’re so fuckin’ _pretty_. I just don’t get it; I don’t get how you can’t see it.”

Steve flushes, looking away. He never knows what he’s supposed to say to that, so he just asks softly, “Can you keep going?”

Bucky nods quickly, straightening a bit. “Yeah – yeah, sorry, of course. Whatever my girl wants, my girl gets.”

“I’m your girl,” Steve breathes, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to convince himself of that.

“You’re my girl,” Bucky echoes. Coming down so he’s hovering over Steve, he nuzzles his nose along the fabric of the chemise and then drags his tongue over one of the bumps of the brassiere. Steve bites his lip and goes red, never feeling fully comfortable when Bucky does that because of everything he feels he’s lacking. Bucky notices and pulls back so he can start lifting the chemise up Steve’s belly.

“Skin like a goddamn china doll,” he admires as he caresses the softness of Steve’s stomach with his mouth. Steve’s never had much body hair to speak of; with the exception of the thin hairs on his legs, his underarms, and the stuff atop his head, the rest of his body is squeaky clean. Bucky’s always had an unnatural appreciation for how he can run his tongue up the stretch between his best friend’s pelvis to his belly button and feel nothing but the taste and texture of his flesh – very much unlike the thin strip of hair _he_ has in that exact same place.

When his tongue dips into his navel, Steve’s breathing catches and then turns into an uncontrollable chuckle that leaves Bucky smiling against his belly. The brunet continues to kiss up the center of his abdomen as his hands push the nighty up beneath his armpits. Steve takes it in his hands and removes it the rest of the way, curling up slightly so he can pull it over his head and drop it to the side.

“Sit up for me,” Bucky instructs gently. Steve obeys. With tender fingers, Bucky undoes Steve’s brassiere and slowly drags it down the blond’s arms until his wrists fall out from the loops of the straps. Steve can’t look Bucky in the eyes whenever this part happens. And yet he still hears the heavy exhale Bucky makes when his eyes take in the flatness of Steve’s chest; his pale pink, tiny nipples. Bucky places a hand between Steve’s collar bones and gently pushes forward, and Steve takes the hint and lies back down.

Still in his pants, Bucky comes forward on the cot and straddles Steve’s thighs without actually bearing all of his weight down. His eyes jump back and forth between both nipples as he slides his hands up his best girl’s sides. He then brings his fingers to beneath his collar bones and drags down the tips – barely grazing – until they run over Steve’s lack of pecks. His middle fingers catch on the nipples, making Steve suck in a small breath through his nose.

“Such nice, pretty little tits,” Bucky murmurs affectionately. He starts rubbing circles over them with his thumbs, zeroing in on the hardening buds. Steve peers at Bucky, biting his bright red bottom lip as he brings one hand behind his head and rubs Bucky’s clothed thigh with the other. “God, you know what these things to do me, baby girl,” Bucky husks, still unable to take his eyes off of them. “Fit just right beneath my hands; just wanna…”

He shakes his head slightly and then decides to just show him. His breath ghosts over Steve’s skin, making it pebble up with thousands of pin-sized goosebumps. Steve closes his eyes and exhales through parted lips when Bucky’s hot, wet tongue licks over one nipple before the older boy blows cool air over it. Bucky kisses across his chest and then does the same to the other before sealing his mouth over it and suckling slowly. Steve’s fingers now thread through the hair at the back of Bucky’s head, gripping gently as he moans, just loud enough for the two of them to hear.

Bucky has Steve writhing beneath him by the time he’s made both nipples puffy and swollen. Honestly, he could stay there with his mouth attached to them for _hours_ and never tire of it. He isn’t fibbing when he tells Steve how much he adores his chest. But eventually, he reluctantly knows that any further attention to them will only start to bring Steve actual _pain_ , so he chooses instead to press open-mouthed kisses up Steve’s neck with the final destination being that perfect little mouth of his.

The small suctions and the coolness of the air hitting the glistening patches where Bucky runs his tongue could drive Steve mad if Bucky kept it up long enough. It doesn’t matter now that he has both hands running aimlessly along Bucky’s bare back, into his hair, clutching to his hip; Bucky’s body is perfection and he always feels so good to Steve’s touch that once he’s _started_ touching, he can’t get enough.

“Can you…?” he whispers.

“Can I what?” Bucky breathes, taking Steve’s earlobe between his teeth and giving it a gentle nip before flicking it with the tip of his tongue.

“You know… suck a… a love bite onto my neck?”

“You want the world to know you’re mine, sweetheart?” Bucky asks softly into his ear. Steve whimpers and nods. For a second, the older boy pauses and Steve thinks he’ll _finally_ do it. But then to his frustration, Bucky just answers, “You know I can’t do that, sugar; good girls don’t run around with hickies on their necks. And you’re a good girl, ain’t you?”

“Buck…”

“If you’re runnin’ around all marked up, boys are gonna think you’re _easy_ ; they’re gonna think they can have a pass at you. I don’t want that – I’d punch out anyone who so much as gave my girl the eye. You ain’t nobody else’s but mine…”

Bucky presses his lips to Steve’s and gives him a rough, possessive kiss. When he pulls back, Steve actually feels magnetized to his mouth; trying to chase it back without any luck. Bucky just teasingly brushes them across each other again before looking Steve in the eyes and husking, “Tell you what: you’re being such a good girl for me, so why don’t we compromise? I’ll suck a nice big mark onto your hip, then another on your inner thigh, then another right next to your gorgeous little pussy. Then m’gonna eat you out until you’re ready to take me… How’s that sound?”

Steve always falls apart the moment Bucky starts referring to his anus in those terms… _pussy… cunt…_ If he really had one, it’d be dripping wet by now. Steve moans a little _too_ loudly and then bites it back just as fast. His eyes widen and he nods his head quickly – choosing not to respond with words for fear of it just being another embarrassingly whorish pleading sound.

Bucky’s mouth is magic. He sucks on Steve’s hip until the blond has to stuff his fist into his mouth to keep from groaning loud enough to notify the entire building. There’s a generously-sized purplish-red blemish by the time Bucky decides it’s good enough to move onto his inner thigh. That one feels better than the first, but not _nearly_ as overwhelming as it feels when those lips and that tongue brand the sensitive flesh of Steve’s buttock, right near his hole. By the time Bucky’s sucking a mark big enough that Steve knows it’ll be tender to sit down for the next few days, the blond is having a hard time not _shouting_.

“You’re _mine_ ,” Bucky exhales lowly when he pulls back to give it a second look. He runs his tongue over it and then reiterates, “You’re _my_ baby doll,” before giving the bruise a light bite, making Steve yelp.

“Shhhh,” the older boy whispers, now spreading Steve’s cheeks with his thumbs. Steve nods, eyes squeezed shut and face screwed up tight as he pants softly. His hips roll tiny undulations in Bucky’s hands, making the brunet chuckle at Steve’s eagerness. When he _finally_ puts his tongue on Steve’s opening and starts licking at it, Steve makes a stuttering sound and grabs the sheet on the cot with both hands. This is undoubtedly _dirtier_ than him dressing up like this, but Steve would be lying if he said it wasn’t one of his most craved desires.

Bucky knows a hundred different ways to touch him, kiss him, lick him… His tongue knows all the right methods of circling, flicking, probing, and thrusting. He can take Steve apart like this slowly or quickly if he wants to; bringing him close to climax and sometimes even pushing him all the way. Bucky usually always has a comment to make for _everything_ , but when he’s eating Steve out like this, it’s about the only time where he gets so into it that he doesn’t even bother applying his brain towards coming up with words. He just holds Steve’s little ass in his hands and releases deep breaths through his nose and mouth as he puts his mouth to work with closed eyes and a peaceful expression on his face.

This time, he chooses to take it slowly. He licks Steve loose for upwards of _twenty consecutive minutes_ , until Steve is arching his back – erection twitching and leaking precome on his belly – and breathing deliriously, “ _Please… please… please…_ ”

Taking mercy on his girl, Bucky withdraws so he can wipe his spit-slicked chin with the back of his hand before spreading Steve wider so he can assess his job well done. “You’re so fuckin’ _wet_ for me,” he groans, making Steve release a soft, hot moan. However, he bats the blond’s hand away when Steve tries to reach down and wrap his fingers around his cock to give it some relief. “I’ll get to that with time, sweet thing,” he promises, and when Steve whines, Bucky can’t tell whether it’s from being made to stop or from knowing what’s to come. Either way, Bucky takes pity on him and gives the length of his cock one sympathetic lick to the tip before swirling his tongue around the cockhead and cleaning up the glisten of precome from the slit. Steve quietly cries out, yanking on the sheets until they’re no longer hugging the flimsy mattress of the cot.

“You wanna suck my cock, baby girl?” Bucky whispers, straightening up to his knees and undoing his belt. Steve nods, gazing up at him lovingly from under half-dropped lids, before reaching up with sluggish hands and fumbling to help him pop open his button. When the zipper is down, Steve tries to claw the slacks down Bucky’s thighs, making the older boy chuckle. He climbs off the cot so he can shed them with greater ease.

Steve can’t even stop himself from surging forward and lavishing kisses all along Bucky’s chest and stomach the second his lover is back on the bed. The majority of his lipstick is dried to his mouth now, but what little is left to stain dots little crimson stamps across Bucky’s midriff.

“Now you remember to take it slow, Stevie,” Bucky reminds him, referring to his asthma. The last time Steve had gone down on him, he’d tried to take things far too fast and had led to him curled on his side making big, whooping gasps as an anxious Bucky rubbed circles on his back and tried to talk him down from his unexpected attack.

“I want you to fuck my mouth,” Steve tells him. He always reaches a point where he wants things too badly to give his filter much thought. He knows a good girl probably doesn’t talk like that – and _Steve Rogers_ certainly doesn’t talk like that – but it never fails to get Bucky huffing a quick, needy exhale at the vulgarity of it, so he supposes it isn’t necessarily a _bad_ thing.

“If I do that, I’m _going_ to be taking it slow,” he replies.

Steve breathes roughly against his skin as he holds Bucky’s hips in his hands and licks his own stripes around Bucky’s erection; purposely touching everywhere _but_ the actual prize. “Then take it slow,” he concedes effortlessly. “Just _do_ it.”

“You know how irresistible you are when you fuckin’ talk like that?” Bucky groans. He takes Steve’s chin back in his hand and tilts it up and – _Christ_ – for a split second, his heart skips a beat again because Steve really _does_ look extraordinary with all that beautiful eye makeup and all that lipstick smudged around his mouth. He’s wearing absolutely nothing but his ma’s pearls. There’s something so _wrong_ and _perfect_ about it all at the same time that Bucky mentally apologizes to Mrs. Rogers for finding the whole thing so ridiculously sexy.

“Open up,” he quietly instructs. Steve does, never taking his eyes off of him. He looks so fucking _pretty_ with his mouth ready and wanting for him. Bucky strokes his cheek a few times before gently taking hold of the back of Steve’s head to keep him still. With the other hand, he takes up his cock and holds it straight out. Bringing it to Steve’s parted lips, he slowly starts to feed it into his mouth. There really isn’t a more beautiful sight.

He’s well proportioned; not necessarily big in terms of length (he’s about average in that department), but thick and heavy. It’s a good fit for Steve, who would otherwise find it impossible to take the majority of him into his mouth. He doesn’t say it out loud – he usually leaves that to Bucky – but he’s an absolute slut for getting his lips around Bucky’s cock. His skin tastes delicious and it’s a heady feeling, the tightness in his stretched lips; the way it brings his jaw a dull ache. He can’t take Bucky to the hilt quite as easily as Bucky can with him, and Bucky does indeed have to take things slow and stop a few times in order for Steve to catch his breath, but every time what he’s doing evokes a soft moan, or a groan, or even a grunt from his best guy, Steve’s cock always gives a powerful twitch.

Bucky palms the back of his head and keeps his word about taking it slow. He moves Steve head back and forth with a gentle pressure. And his best girl is _so good_ ; Stevie just closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing and makes small little humming sounds whenever he’s able to rub his tongue along him on the pull-back. Bucky’s jaw is dropped. He can feel sweat prickling his temples as his core temperature continues to rise the faster his heart beats and the longer Steve’s gentle mouth tends to him. He pants big breaths and watches the show with a look of wonder and worship.

“God, baby, you suck my cock so nicely,” he moans. “You’re so… _Fuck_ , you’re so perfect… _Mmm_ , my gorgeous princess, deep-throating me so sweetly; you like doing this, precious? You like making me feel so good?”

Steve moans in response. He can’t help from touching himself anymore; his hand’s been idly stroking his own dick for the past several minutes, and even though Bucky _must_ know of it, he hasn’t made any move to stop him, so Steve keeps going.

“Yeah, you’re taking such sweet care of me, Stevie,” Bucky exhales. Steve hollows out his cheeks and then lets his jaw relax so he can focus on twirling his tongue around the tip every time Bucky’s hand pulls his head back. He’s started to shudder slightly from needing to take bigger gulps of air, so Bucky pulls away, his dick falling from Steve’s lips.

“I was fine,” Steve insists, voice a bit hoarse. His chin is a mess of spit and he looks up at Bucky defiantly, making Bucky’s mouth quirk up in a half-grin.

“I know,” Bucky lies. Gripping his erection in his left hand, he never moves his other hand from the back of Steve’s head as he traces the blond’s painted lips with the tip of his cock. Steve sighs eagerly and darts out his tongue, licking wherever he can touch.  

“Lie back down for me,” Bucky says. Steve does, and shivers with anticipation when Bucky picks up the jar of Vaseline and twists off the lid. He lets his legs fall shamelessly open, catching Bucky’s attention. Grey eyes sweep over his lower body and the brunet smiles to himself as he slicks up a few of his fingers. “Gotta get you ready for me, baby doll. I know how much you like this part.”

He starts off by taking things even _slower_ than he had with the blowjob. He leans over Steve and kisses away his tiny moans and gasps as he patiently works the first finger into him until Steve’s able to accept it all the way to the second knuckle. After a few minutes, a second joins the first, and eventually, the third is added as well. The heel of his hand presses against Steve’s perineum as he thrusts his fingers in and out, slowly but deeply. He curls them around, trying to find that little walnut-sized spot that makes his girl keen harder than anything else – and sure enough, when he eventually finds it and grazes it with his fingertips, Steve whimpers loudly and jolts beneath him.

“Please…” the blond begs. “I need you in me… Oh… _God_ … Bucky…”

Bucky kisses back down his neck and then carefully pulls his fingers out. Getting off the cot, he goes over to the drawer where he keeps his condoms and opens it up. Steve watches him rummage through it for a few seconds before the older man freezes and stops moving. Suddenly he’s shoving things around in there and moving a lot faster.

“Bucky?” Steve asks, frowning and pushing himself up to his elbows.

Bucky stops and then replies, back still to him, “I don’t got anymore left…”

“Huh?”

Bucky looks to him from over his shoulder; panic written all over his features. “I’m all out of rubbers, Stevie. I must not have noticed when we used up the last one.” Returning to the cot, he sighs helplessly and shakes his head, stammering out a weak apology. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I should’ve picked up more when I saw we were runnin’ low. _Fuck_ , Steve, m’so fuckin’ sorry.”

Steve panics. When he’s done up like this, he doesn’t like – nor _want_ – Bucky to call him ‘Steve’ because that means the illusion is shattering. He’s not ready to return to reality just yet. So he surges forward and grabs Bucky’s face in his hands, shutting him up with a kiss.

“I don’t care,” he insists between tilting his face to the other side. “Just pull out before you come.”

“But Steve--”

“Bucky, _shut up_ for a second. Please, okay? I want this. Please don’t make us stop.”

Bucky hesitates but then nods, muttering a quiet _okay_ before letting himself kiss Steve back. Steve lowers back down and pulls his best friend with him in a desperate attempt to convince Bucky not to back out, lest that be a possibility. To his relief, Bucky comes down with him and settles between Steve’s legs. The brunet shuffles a little in order to grab the Vaseline again, and then both look down with deep, steady breaths as they watch him stroke his erection with it until it’s shining. Steve can’t stand the uncertainty in Bucky’s eyes when he’s finally looking back into them.

“I love you,” he whispers, sounding needy even to his own ears.

Bucky stops for a second, peering down; their noses touching. His eyes search Steve’s and then he quietly replies, “I love you, too…”

He nudges forward, dipping his hips. Steve can’t help but toss his head back and let his mouth fall open with a stutter when he feels Bucky finally start to push into him. It always snaps the tether inside that keeps him together. He stretches wider, wider, _wider,_ opening up with only a little resistance as Bucky’s cock slowly sinks into his body. He hears Bucky whisper _fuck_ as his own eyes flutter closed at the sensation. Steve digs his short nails into Bucky’s back in a vice grip until Bucky’s fully seated inside of him.

“ _God_ , baby girl, you’re so fucking tight,” Bucky manages through grit teeth. “Tell me when it’s okay for me to move.”

“It’s okay,” Steve assures him quickly. “You can move; it’s okay.”

Bucky touches their foreheads together and nods. With a gentle care, he pulls back and then pushes back in again. For the first few minutes, he keeps his thrusts shallow as the two settle into the sensations and get properly used to them. Steve opens his eyes a sliver so he can peek at Bucky’s face. He’s overwhelmed with adoration whenever he takes in the sight of Bucky with his eyes closed and his lips parted, eyebrows slightly knit together in concentration. He touches and moves within Steve as though Steve were satin, silk – all the rare and precious things in the world. Steve knows that this is how a woman deserves to be touched, and it’s about the one time where Steve lets himself think that he can deserve that, too.

“Are you okay?” Bucky breathes, opening his eyes. His pupils are so large that his eyes look black, and Bucky’s lucky – he doesn’t need blush to make his cheeks look fucking beautiful. All he needs is that flush he’s wearing now.

“Yeah,” Steve whispers back. He starts to roll his hips up to try and meet Bucky’s.

“Stevie, no,” Bucky says, though he doesn’t stop thrusting. “M’not taking this fast… M’not fucking you rough… We’re gonna take this slow… _Stevie_ , you feel so fucking good wrapped around me, God… Just let me take care of you…”

Steve nods, letting his hips fall back to the cot and letting Bucky do the work, just like the older boy wants to. He makes love to Steve slowly – _so_ slowly that there are times where Steve can’t help but become frustrated as his body yearns for more. But he slowly starts to fall apart… When Bucky pulls out after a good fifteen minutes and settles back on his stomach to go back to eating Steve out again. This time, he also wraps his mouth around Steve’s erection and sucks on it languidly for a minute or two before entering him again and picking up where he’d left off.

Steve doesn’t know how Bucky does it – can push off his orgasm for so long. The only reason Steve doesn’t blow his load too soon is because Bucky can always sense when he’s getting too close and purposely backs off to give his body time to cool down. It makes Steve want to at first curse him, until he knows nothing but wanting to shout his praises for this man to the Heavens when Bucky continues alternating between fucking him slowly, massaging his erection with his tongue, and drawing soft circles around his asshole before closing his mouth over it and sucking.

After almost an hour, they’re both covered with so much sweat that their hair is matted all across their faces and foreheads. Steve’s makeup is ringing his eyes like a raccoon and the heat between them is unbearable. He’s ultra sensitive to every one of Bucky’s ministrations; able to feel each bead of perspiration roll from his body onto the cot, feel the droplets fall from Bucky and splash onto him. Bucky’s _still_ moving just as slowly, but he’s smothered Steve to him with his hand pinned beneath the blond’s backside and the cot – tilting Steve’s ass up and making it easy work for his cock to rub up against his prostate and get him moaning uncontrollably into Bucky’s mouth.

“Yeah… _Unh_ … Stevie… Baby…” Bucky whispers, just as much clinging brazen and unafraid to the precipice as Steve is.

“Bucky,” Steve whines, biting at the brunet’s mouth and then arching beautifully, only pushing himself harder into Bucky’s entanglement of arms and heat. “Tell me you wanna marry me…”

“Gonna make an honest girl out of you,” Bucky pants softly. He slides all the way into Steve’s slick and lax hole and then rocks in small circles, making Steve cry out. Bucky shuts him up with a kiss. “Drop to one knee and ask you to be my best girl for life… I’ll – _oh, Gooooddd –_ I’ll get you a nice big rock, something beautiful and shiny, just like you deserve… Get you a beautiful white dress, you’ll look so pretty, Stevie… Bell of the… of the ball… No one will be able to take their eyes off of you… You’re gonna make me the happiest man alive…”

Steve moans, feeling tears start to fill his eyes and cling to his lashes. He remembers the happy couple he’d seen earlier that day while he’d been sketching… how they’d been strolling hand-in-hand, so happy and proud and in love, with nothing to hide… how her belly had been so round with the life she was carrying inside of it…

“Bucky… I…”

Bucky’s hips are rolling into him again, the brunet moaning hot and velvety, and Steve wonders if he’s imagining the same things. He takes Steve’s face in one hand and they stare into each other’s eyes. Steve reaches between them and starts slowly stroking himself again. _He’s so close…_

“Buck… I think m’gonna come soon…”

Bucky nods and presses their lips together again as he starts to thrust in a bit faster. Steve whines brokenly into his mouth when suddenly Bucky breaks it and stares down at him, wide-eyed. “Oh _shit_ ,” he whispers, as if panicked. He glances down at where he’s still fucking into him and then shakes his head like he just can’t believe it. “Stevie, m’gonna – _shit_ , I’m sorry – _shit!_ ”

But when he goes to pull out before he can, Steve throws his arms around him and squeezes his ass with one hand. “No, please!” he whispers quickly, big, fat tears rolling down his temples now. He leans up and covers Bucky’s mouth with his.

“Baby girl, wait--” Bucky pants desperately, though his hips only continue to speed up. He tastes like salt and musk and cigarettes and Steve only wants this – _just this_ – for the rest of his life.

“Fill me up, please,” Steve begs, staring up at him and holding onto him for dear life, looking more vulnerable and breakable than Bucky thinks he’s ever seen him. He gasps when Bucky hits his prostate again and then moans, “Put a baby in me… Please…”

Bucky’s heart clenches and his throat immediately tightens. He moans, the sound pained, and watches as Steve starts to cry from overstimulation. Settling back down and making up his mind, he holds Steve close and kisses his tears, feeling hot breath against his cheek as Steve exhales louder and louder moans the closer he gets.

“You’re gonna make such a good wife…” Bucky whispers into his ear. “Such a good mother…”

He should feel _wrong_ and _fucked up_ that that means so much to him, but Steve can’t right now, because it _does._ It means so much to him that he comes sudden and hard. Turning his face into Bucky’s neck, he cries out shakily and then clamps his teeth down on the skin and bites to stifle the sound. Bucky cries out with surprise and shouts out a curse before pumping into Steve fast and hard a half dozen times before slamming into him and stilling, filling his ass up with his orgasm. Steve, still riding out the aftershock of his own, just cradles Bucky to him and releases tiny, fucked out whimpers as he feels Bucky filling him up, just like he’d asked.

Bucky pulls back enough to look at Steve. His eyes are grieved and his bottom lip trembles as his eyes fill with tears of their own. “My beautiful… _beautiful_ girl…” he says sadly.

And then the illusion is over and Steve falls apart as the real world yanks them abruptly back into it. Steve isn’t a girl; he isn’t _Bucky’s_ girl… And they will never have this. When his chest starts heaving and he begins to sob, Bucky just buries his face into Steve’s neck and hugs the body beneath him to his own… But Steve can feel it, the way that Bucky’s crying, too.

* * *

It’s March 3rd, and there’s one hour left until it’s no longer Bucky’s 99th (technical) birthday anymore. Their apartment is quiet as he walks down the hall, tucking his hair behind his ears that’d come loose from his pony tail. His hands – flesh and metal - are still damp from the dishes he’d just finished cleaning up, and he rolls down the sleeves of his shirt as he keeps his footfalls as soft as possible. 

He doesn’t want to wake her up.

Her door is open and he stops in the frame to peer into her room. She’s still too small for a real bed, but she’s starting to get too big for the crib. He’ll have to talk to Steve about it in the morning and maybe they can see if Stark can whip something up for her. Smiling to himself, he tiptoes into the room and approaches the sleeping baby. He supposes she isn’t really a ‘baby’ anymore… She’ll be two and a half soon. Bucky has a harder time accepting how fast she’s growing than Steve does.

She’s on her back, sprawled with one little pudgy arm above her head and the other out by her side. She sleeps just like Steve, and even _looks_ just like him, even though she isn’t theirs by blood. But when she smiles, that’s _Bucky Barnes_ all over, and he hopes that she continues to adopt more of his features just as they’d adopted her – if only so she gains more of _Steve’s_ personality. Bucky doesn’t know _how_ he’s going to deal with raising a girl once _boys_ come into the picture, and _that’ll_ be bad enough; he doesn’t need Maggie to add to the problem by being _anything_ like he’d been in that regard.

The Rogers-Barnes household only needs _one_ troublemaker. ( _Two_ if you count Steve, which Bucky does but Steve does _not_.)

Bending down, he places the gentlest of kisses to her forehead. She makes a soft sound that always makes his chest feel light as she stirs but doesn’t waken. “I love you, _дорогая_ ,” he whispers, taking in the smell of baby powder and her shampoo from the bath Steve had given her before bed. Straightening back up, his eyes always trail to the mural on the wall that his husband had painted for their daughter before the day they’d finally been able to bring her home when she’d only been a few weeks old… filled with flowers and animals and sunshine… with the name _Margaret Rebecca Rogers-Barnes_ in beautiful cursive, right in the center.

He makes sure the baby monitor is turned on before leaving the room and quietly closing the door behind him. He walks to their bedroom and then stops in the doorway, taking in the sight.

“Well…” he says fondly, that old soft smile tugging up one corner of his mouth, “didn’t know if I’d ever get to see my girl again.”

They’ve survived decades apart; ice and nightmares and wars and loving in silence and now, finally, loving out loud… And Steve’s body has changed just as much as the men inside of them have with the faded years. They’re both nothing like they were and everything they used to be. All it ever takes it one look – for Bucky, it’s feeling Steve’s eyes on him and knowing that nothing will ever be able to take this from him anymore.

It’s been over seventy years since he last saw his best girl. The clothes don’t fit his body the same way, and Steve’s still just as shy and self-conscious in the beginning, but he’ll _never_ look any less beautiful. He’s wearing a pale blue, _real_ silk nighty, with black-laced panties and a bra. The black nylons on his legs cut off above the knee and clip to his underwear. His makeup is exactly the same as it’d looked in 1940, and though he’s long since lost his mother’s faux-pearls to time, he now wears the _real_ ones that Bucky had bought him specifically for this occasion.

“Is she still sleeping?” Steve asks; lying across the bed with his head propped in one hand.

Bucky nods, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him. He removes his shirt and tosses it into the laundry hamper. “Like a log,” he answers, walking towards the bed.

“Did you have a nice birthday?” the blond asks, rolling onto his back and smiling as Bucky climbs over top of him.

“Always do,” Bucky smiles back as his eyes rake over that nostalgic, _familiar_ way his lover’s face is dolled up once again. “Though if Barton hogs Maggie all to himself again next time, m’gonna sack him in the balls. She’s _our_ fuckin’ kid, not his.”

“Just make sure he hands her over to someone else _before_ you do that,” Steve jokes. “You know he’s just getting anxious; Natasha’s due any week now. He’s scared he won’t make a good father.”

“Do you remember when I was worried about that?” Bucky murmurs, brushing Steve’s bangs back and then their lips together.

“Nothin’ to worry about, just like I told you,” Steve answers quietly.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Stevie,” Bucky breathes. Steve hums softly when his hips rock against his; the rough fabric of his jeans pressing against his erection through the thin panties. Bucky sees his reaction and smirks, exhaling a short chuckle. “I think m’gonna like the 21st century’s lingerie even _better_ than what we had before,” he guesses. They share a smile and then Bucky kisses him softly. The light reflects off of the band of his wedding ring when he uses his right hand to stroke Steve’s cheeks. He can feel the slight difference in temperature when the gold band of Steve’s own presses against his naked side from the blond’s left hand.

“I love you,” he whispers adoringly.

Steve kisses him back. “I love you, too.”

“Still my girl,” Bucky murmurs before beginning to kiss down his neck.

“Always,” Steve promises before closing his eyes and filling the room with a gentle moan.

**Author's Note:**

>  _дорогая (doh-roh-GAH-yah)_ \- precious, darling, dear, etc.
> 
> The image I used in my head for Maggie Rogers-Barnes:
> 
> Stucky-inspired gifs for today:
> 
> 1\. What looks like Bucky topping (yum):
> 
> 2\. The roll of dat spine:
> 
> 3\. Steve getting fingered and _loving_ it:
> 
> 4\. This gorgeous picture:
> 
> As always, the source is: [stevebuckypornlookalikes.tumblr](http://stevebuckypornlookalikes.tumblr.com/)


End file.
